undergrounds | Mr. Sandman

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Mr. Sandman

6 Feb.

It's February, still cold but Valentine's Day just around the corner and people starting to think of spring, it might not be surprising that romance seems to be in the air. Hard to pin down just what the difference is—but romance seems to be nagging at a lot of minds.

It might be because last night, you had a dream. Nothing clear, but bits and pieces stick with you. Maybe it was just stolen glances and light kisses, or maybe it was flashes and surprising jolts of something more physical, more raw. Either way, the dream doesn't quite fade away when daylight comes.

The strangest part? It's about someone you normally try not to think of that way.

Dreams are like that though, sometimes. It's probably nothing.

10 Feb.

A few days later, and the dreams keep on keeping on. For at least one person, it's every night. For others, it may be more intermittent. It may be just happening for the first time, after a visit to the Redbright Institute or passing through the surrounding neighbor, or after chatting with a particular vampire. It might happen spontaneously. Either way the dreams keep coming, and they continue to be about someone in particular, someone who you've been denying or ignoring your attraction to, but it's getting hard to pretend you don't feel a little warmer when you think about them.

It's starting to seem like there's something a little weird going on here. Even weirder? There's a chance that the person you're dreaming about is having the same dreams. Not just romantic dreams—the exact same shared dreams.

At least, they are if they're dreaming of you too.

14 Feb.

It's been a week now, and the dreams keep escalating. Not only do they become more frequent, they're more vivid. What started with disjointed images and feelings, more impressions than anything else, have evolved into full narratives—ranging from chastely romantic nonsense, imagining that the object of your desire is a knight coming to rescue you from a dragon, or arrived to offer comfort and support in a bleak moment, to intensely erotic. Some of them may be down right silly.

But the common thread is there. They are all about the same person, and they all expose the fact that you care about them in a way that's not as platonic as you've pretended.

And maybe it's about time you confronted that?

On the other hand, maybe you're just riding this out.

Either way, this is getting sorted out tonight. There's not going to be a better time for it

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Sex dreams were decidedly NOT a usual thing for Daryl. Sure he had morning wood as much as the next guy, but not as a result of a vividly explicit dream. Or eight. The first time it happened was after he'd visited the Redbright Institute to see if they had any records of a squirrel shifter student anytime in the past five years. No dice. But as the visit was right before his normal mid-day nap time, he'd gone and found a sunny, secluded spot in the garden to curl up in. And maybe an hour later woken up in a cold sweat and fully human. Apparently when he'd gotten into what was happening in the dream, he'd transformed to match. Not a fun realization.

He had to figure the reason it'd been about Natasha was because he was at the institute.

The second time it'd happened was that same night, during his mid-night nap. This time about a different, equally attractive Vampire. But one with a very different body.

The third time was the very next day, once more during his mid-day catnap. And once more he woke up human and with a hard on he couldn't easily get rid of.

For some reason the dreams continued, getting more detailed each time, and alternating between the two. Every time he shut his eyes it seemed, he would get himself into an embarrassing situation and have to quickly find some place private to relieve himself of the tension.

The one that really got to him, though, was the one that came at midnight when the 13th was rolling over to the 14th. Of all the dreams he'd had, it was the only one that didn't involve sex, though he wouldn't be surprised if that eventually happened with how much his libido had suddenly spiked. But it was also the one that made him really, really ashamed for having it at all. A man shouldn't dream about a happy domestic life with a married woman. Even if she'd been helping him take care of a small child off and on for the last week. Made it really difficult to face Liadan the next time he saw her.

[]OOC: Daryl's only personally experiencing dreams about 3 people, but if you'd like to play out a dream your character is having about him, I'm game.]]

In most of her dreams, Liadan found that her house was not only bigger but all the things that annoyed her about it were suddenly, miraculously fixed. And, of course, her husband was always home.

This time was no different. She walked into the living room and smiled to see Daryl and Johnny sitting on the couch, reading a book. "Should I make some hot cocoa?" she asked.

Daryl's eyes turned from the book to his wife and lit up like he'd just had a glimpse of perfection. His smile widened and he nodded, "Sounds great. Put a lot of marshmallows in it, too."

His gaze lingered for a moment before returning to Johnny and whispering conspiratorially, "Think we can convince her to put the whole bag in?"

She can't quite hear what he's whispering but she has a good guess. "Not a chance," she says before filling up a saucepan with milk and putting it on the stove.

As she watched the milk heat up, she placed a hand on her stomach, thinking about this new baby on the way. She wondered what he or she would be like. Probably just as wonderful as Johnny, though they would be born into circumstances that were much more stable than her son.

Daryl laughed along with Johnny at Liadan's response. He knew she didn't have super hearing, but she knew him so well she didn't need to. He told their son to go wash up and put the book away, then got up himself and joined her in the kitchen.

He wrapped his arms around her and let his hands rest over the one on her stomach while his chin found purchase on her shoulder. Daryl had never been so happy as when they'd gotten together and she'd asked him to move in. To be Johnny's father. To be her husband. It was a life he'd never thought he'd get to have. The kind found in movies and books and never reality. Not for him.

"Half the bag, then," he murmured, grinning against her ear in joking negotiation.

Liadan leaned back against him, enjoying being wrapped up in his arms. This was the life she'd always wanted for herself and Johnny. For so long, she'd thought it out of reach.

"A quarter," she counted. "Split evenly between the two of you."

"Nah," he shook his head, letting his stubble brush along her neck and shoulder. "Give him more. He deserves it. He's been good today."

Yes, he was definitely encouraging a sugar rush later, but that was the ~~downfall~~ privilege of being a parent, right?

After a second he settled his forehead into her shoulderblade, nuzzling at her like the cat he was, "It's been a good day all around, really. But I still missed you when I was working."

Jean-Claude is not a stranger to dreaming about others. He is a vampire, after all, and there are times when he has entered another person's dreams after he has shared blood with them through the use of mind-control. But this is different. This feels different. At first, he does not think there is anything different from this and a normal dream. Save for the fact that he, as a vampire, dreams very little. And the dreams that he has are rarely actually so pleasant as this.

Nevertheless, he finds himself lazing on a blanket in a garden, the sunlight gentle and warm against his skin. He's dressed down, wearing only a shirt with his stockings and breeches, loose at the collar to let the warm early summer air vent through it. He has his black curls tied back in a loose ribbon at the base of his skull, and a few of the strands have managed to escape and tangle about his face already as he turns to reach for the platter of foods and drinks he has brought out -- if there is one thing he has missed, if there is one thing he will never miss dreaming about, it is food -- plucking a grape off of the bunch and rolling towards his companion. A smile on his face and in his eyes as warm as the sun beating down on them as he gestures towards the platter and cocks his head towards the other man coquettishly.

"Is there anything here that is to your tastes?"

Daryl didn't sit so relaxed as Jean-Claude, but it wasn't because of how he was dressed. He was in an equally frilly shirt and breeches, though he had yet to divest himself of his waistcoat and the tightness of it along his torso really made it clear just how broad his shoulders were. He was tense because he was alone with a man he found attractive and being given a stare that could melt the clothes right off him if he weren't careful.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he reached for the grape on the blanket between them. He took his time bringing it to his mouth and popping it inside while he let his eyes roam more freely than he would outside of such dreams.

A soft "mmmhmm" was the only other reponse Jean-Claude got. It was his dream, he could play coy.

Jean-Claude has to say, for all he would admire Daryl out of the waistcoat, he's certainly admiring him in it. Especially the way it accentuates his waist and his shoulders, the soft brocade softening Daryl himself a little. In any other situation, it might have looked ridiculous, but here and now, it fits him like a glove.

He smiles wider at the response, at the way those eyes are roaming, and he smiles slowly and sweetly, like the warm spread of molasses, as he plays innocent and replies, "Oh yes? Perhaps you should tell it to me, so that I can give you what you desire." He smiles wider. "Or perhaps will you leave me guessing instead, mon ami?"

Daryl's cheeks reddened with the offer and he ended up coughing into his hand before he let himself relax just that much further. He turned himself over slowly so he was on his stomach, one arm under his chin. The other stretched out to brush against the cloth of Jean-Claude's breeches. Right at the ankle. Traced lightly over it in a thoughtful manner before he let his eyes drift back to the other man's face.

"Was thinking something more filling than cheese 'n fruit," he answered. His tongue darted out again, once more wetting his lips. "Maybe some meat. Red and raw if you got it."

Jean-Claude raises his eyebrows slightly, for a moment slightly uncertain whether this is Daryl's way of flirting with him or whether he really is asking him whether he's brought raw meat with him in his basket. Perhaps he has, for that matter. Dreams are strange things, and this man is not entirely human himself, after all.

He watches the way the other man's fingers play against his ankle for a long moment, before turning back to the basket. Making a show of searching his way through it, a tease as he offers, "Perhaps we have something in here that will do..."

Daryl did like raw meat more than fruit. Though he had been intending the request to be something of a double entandre. Something not quite as uncouth as something Merle or his father would have said. It didn't seem to work. Just his luck, even in his dreams he was bad at the whole flirting thing.

So while Jean-Claude had his attention on the basket and his eyes elsewhere, Daryl pushed himself up and onto his hands and knees. Then moved slowly closer until he could casually flop himself down next to JC. On his back. His head coming to rest on the man's thigh. He leaned his chin up and let his eyebrows raise, "Find anything?"

Jean-Claude continues to make a show of searching through the basket, though because he is not quite certain whether Daryl had really wanted him to find something raw in the basket, perhaps because he doesn't really want it to be that kind of dream, eventually he turns his head to glance over his shoulder to where Daryl's head is resting on his thigh.

Smiling slightly, a hint of mischief in the corner of his lips, he moves to reach across and run his hand through Daryl's hair. Brushing it out of his eyes and moving to tuck a strand of it behind his ear as he does. "I must admit," he says, his voice low and silky, "I was not looking very hard. My own interests lie everywhere."

"Yeah? And what interests are those?" Daryl asked, reaching out blindly for another grape and trying to pop it into his mouth in a coy manner. His eyes staying on Jean-Claude's as he licked each finger afterwards despite there being nothing on them to get off.

The scene was sudden, conjured with no explanation and no preamble. Natasha, dressed in short denim cutoffs and a tank top, in his garage. It wasn't really his garage, though, because outside the sun spills over long field grass and and fences lined with honeysuckle—something a long way from urban London. Quieter, slower, and much, much warmer. Natasha herself was dewy with sweat, flushed as though she's been in the sun, and grimy as though she's been working.

She stalked up to where Daryl is working confidently, and leaned over it to look down at him, her eyes dark.

"Busy?" she asked

It being a dream, Daryl doesn't question the sudden return to the warmth of Georgia or Natsha dressed like his own personal Daisy Duke, leaning over him where he worked on a bike he couldn't quite make out the details of. They weren't the ones that mattered, though, so it wasn't something to dwell on.

He wiped his hands on an oil rag and tossed it to the side, finding himself surprisingly comfortable dressed in only a brown undershirt and a pair of baggy, ripped cargos an equally brown color as the tank. The kind that just blended in with the dirt. And the kind he hadn't worn in years.

"Not really," he answered, grinning up at her and pushing himself out from the bike without sitting up. "Why? You got plans?"

"Not at all." She gave him a slow smile, raising her chin and lowering her lashes as she looks him over. There was a moment of silence as she rocked her weight idly, tapping one toe as she considered him. Her voice was warmer when she spoke again, a little bit of twinkle in her green eyes. "In fact, I'm free all afternoon. Was thinking maybe you'd help me kill some time..."

"I can do that," he said with a confident, cheeky grin, eyes raking her over before darting off to the side, suddenly shy. His skin flushed red before he laughed low and let his gaze drift back to her from under greasy and sweat-matted hair. Even in a dream he couldn't quite be that confident buck full of bravado his brother was when it came to dirty talk.

But this was Natasha, so that didn't matter. He could try to pretend and play coy and let his act break a bit and he didn't think she'd care. She was his friend. Dream or no.

"Whaddaya have in mind?"

Friend was a word for it. And her stance was consistent with it, in a weird way. She projected a level of comfort she rarely exhibited. Not because she wasn't at ease around Daryl, but because she was rarely at ease.

This is a dream, though.

So here, she smiles and the expression narrows her eyes and curls the edges of her lips playfully. "Well, I was thinking if I was lucky, you'd bend me over your work bench."

If she was lucky? Hell, the lucky one in this situation was Daryl. He pushed himself up off the floor and stood in front of Nat. One hand slipped to her waist and he started walking her backwards. Slowly. Toward that bench.

"Oh yeah? It's pretty dirty," he drawled, playful and teasing. "You wanting me to get you dirty?"

"Oh, I very much hoping you will." She let him guide her back, light and responsive as a dancer under his hand and a chuckle in her voice turning her words into something like a purr. Her arms slid over his shoulders, drawing him down closer to her level. "The dirtier the better."

Both of his hands slid down and back to grab her ass, gripping it firmly as he lifted her up just to set her on the edge of the bench. At the perfect height to grind his hips into hers while his hands settled on the wood to either side. His mouth came down on her neck and he started nipping lightly at the skin. Going slow for the moment, encouraging her to do a little more.

Natasha's legs spread easily, naturally letting him in. One hand went to the back of his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck and massaging gently. Her other hand dipped between them, hooking in the front of his pants and holding him close while she murmurs encouragement.

Not that he had any doubts that she wanted him, but it was nice having her guide him a bit. Making sure he knew she did. That she was okay with him moving in and doing more. He moved his hands to her thighs, rubbed them lightly while mouthing at her neck before pushing up over her shorts to the waist. He didn't bother taking time with the button and the zipper. Going slow for that part at the moment seemed pointless.

"Lift up," he growled into her ear, hooking his thumbs over the edge of her waist. "Want these gone."

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outstandingbalance - 2017-03-19 23:41 (UTC) - Expand

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Mr. Sandman

Daryl | OTA for dreamshares

Re: Daryl | OTA for dreamshares

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